


My Mind is filled with You

by Jae_Hwa8



Category: Romil and Jugal (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Feels, JugalsPOV, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, RomilsPOV, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25778143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae_Hwa8/pseuds/Jae_Hwa8
Summary: Romil asked Jugal to text him something dirty. Jugal delivered. Jugals POV
Relationships: Romil/Jugal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Those Rough Hands that make me Content

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I've been quiet for a few years but have returned with a fanfic for my new favorite series: Romil and Jugal, an Indian BL. 
> 
> This fic is an experiment of sorts since I'm trying to add texting which will appear in bold and thoughts of the characters without italics.  
> Comments are appreciated and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> The characters are not mine and all rights and characters for Romil and Jugal belong to Ekta Kapoor and Balaji Telefilms
> 
> *Not Beta Read*

Jugal flopped onto his bed, his body sagging with relief into his downy soft cotton sheets. His last class had been cancelled. A blessing, since he hadn’t finished the assignment that was supposed to be due today. Daydreaming about Romil would do that to a person. Jugal groaned into his pillow, his head lolling from one side to the other.

Okay, game plan Jugal, he thought to himself. I can take a nap for about twenty minutes, get up, finish writing the last two pages of that essay-thank goodness the professor only takes paper copies- and then-

He dragged his face along his pillow, his eyes popping open to land on the charging phone sitting atop his nightstand. Jugal's lips formed into a pout as his mind brought up Romil’s words from earlier.

“Text me something later, baby. Text me something…dirty.” Just thinking about Romil’s breath hot against the shell of his ear, his rich, earthy cologne thick in his nose, and those strong, callused hands grazing against his wrist sent tingles running down his spine and blood unsure of whether to rush to his cheeks or his-

“Stop!” He shouted, swinging his body upward and scrambling off the bed. This was no time for his brain to turn to mush with images of Romil’s six-pack, massive biceps, perfect smile, and crazy soft hair - “I said stop!” He shook his head, blurring the tantalizing imagery of his boyfriend’s well-muscled body. No. What Jugal needed was a distraction. What better distraction from his amazing boyfriend than finishing that essay and starting his new assignments?

Great game plan. Jugal would forego the nap entirely. Knowing himself, the moments it would take for his consciousness to drift into blissful sleep would be filled with naked Romil’s surrounding him, offering to please him in any way they could. Jugal hummed at the thought. Was he weird to have dreams like that? He’d read articles that told him, no, but he still felt a little strange about it. He shrugged the notion away. The last thing Jugal needed were visions of a glistening, taut, muscular body running rampant through his mind. Right! Instead, he’d take a nice cold shower. Something to cool down his roaring blood was bound to help him focus on his work. Jugal snatched up his phone and a towel and treaded to the washroom.

Upon entering the washroom, Jugal stretched his arms above his head, a yawn escaping from him. He should have gone to bed earlier instead of trying to finish a paper he hadn’t even started. Whoops!

Jugal settled in front of the large, illuminated mirror. His reflection looked just as tired and yet content as he felt. He squinted at his thick mop of wild and messy raven black hair, the small dark bags highlighting his eyes, and the patchy five o’clock shadow he was never able to grow correctly. Jugal exhaled, waving a free hand to and fro as if to shoo away his negative assessment of himself. He never thought himself Romil handsome, but Jugal had to admit he had his charms, and he did have a quite decent body. At least, Romil seemed to enjoy his slightly small frame and his not as ripped body. That had to count for something, right?

Jugal let out a small chuckle before removing his clothes and being met with a surprising display. His hips and waist mottled with purple and blue bruising glared at him. He could just barely make out a handprint, Romil’s handprint. Jugal brushed the pads of his fingers along the battered skin, a shudder racked through his body. He could remember it. Feel it. Feel Romil’s warm hands roaming along the length of his spine, clutching his hips, pulling Jugal closer.

His eyes fluttered shut while his fingers skimmed along his chest, up to his neck, and along his lips. Jugal recalled how each sensation left him gasping for more, wishing Romil was with him, touching him, breathing him in, feeling him above and around his skin. Jugal wanted those large, rough hands to grip his hips once more and pull him flush against that toned body honed from years of playing basketball and football. Those handprints, even if Jugal was the only one who could see them, was all he needed to know that he was Romil’s and Romil was his.

The sharp buzz of his phone against the pristine porcelain sink startled Jugal out of his reverie. He fumbled for his phone, promptly unlocking it and swiping through his notifications. The text read that Romil was on his way to his last class. Jugal smiled at the heart at the end of the sentence. There was no doubt that he loved that man with all his being. He scrolled through his text with Romil and found Romil’s words echoing in his mind.

“Text me something…dirty.” Jugal could practically see that mischievous glint in those bright honey-colored eyes and that smile that Romil reserved only for Jugal. Jugal gulped his desire, love, and semi-embarrassment down. It wasn’t like they hadn’t sexted before, but with the way Romil acted, Jugal was damn sure his fearful lover didn’t want pictures. Jugal puckered his lips catching sight of his body with the assistance of the white fluorescent lights posted behind the enormous mirror.

Jugal had seen his reflection many times, but now, after being with Romil, he felt like he was looking at his real self. He felt free for the first time in years.

His fingers drummed nervously against the large countered sink while he peered at the bright screen of his phone.

“Jugal?!” A door slammed shut, causing Jugal to recoil, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and the grip on his phone to slip. His phone crashed into the bowl below. “Jugal, are you here?!” His mother’s melodic voice rang through the house. The young college student stammered while grappling for his phone.

“Y-Yes, amma! Class let out early!” There was muffled shuffling and clattering from downstairs. She called out again.

“Do you want lunch?! I can make something!”

Jugal examined his phone for cracks. When satisfied, he exclaimed, “No, thank you, amma! I’m going to shower, then do some work!” There was no response, but he assumed from the diminished bustling, his mother heard him.

The young director tapped at the keyboard; the staccato beep of each key resounded loudly in the room.

**Romil: Hey, headed to my last class <3**

**Jugal: Cool.**

**Jugal: … I know I’ve said this before, but I think you have beautiful eyes.**

**He sent, well aware that Romil most likely wouldn’t respond. Jugal began typing again.**

**Jugal: I love when your eyes light up and I love the way your body feels on mine.**

“Nice going, man. That went from zero to one-hundred ultra-quick.” Jugal chastised himself before the sound of rushing water reminded him, he was supposed to be taking a shower. Swiftly, Jugal switched on the shower before returning his attention to the slew of messages.

Steam began to billow and dance around the room, engulfing the contents in a thick fog. There were only a few moments before the glass would become cloudy, meaning Jugal had mere minutes before his chance to snap the pic was lost, at least until he finished his shower. He typed one more message before his decision was made for him, the glass opaque and blurred by the steam. He peered at the messages uncertain if he should send his next message or not. He hissed until he resolved to hit send.

Jugal: Next time, I want your fingers in my mouth. I want to suck them, feel them explore my mouth while you grip my hips so tight, I’ll be able to see the result of our lovemaking several days after.

Jugal clicked his phone off, finally allowing his mind to drift. As he stepped into the confines of the shower, the scorching water and steam forced a moan from his throat. A hot shower was the very opposite of what he needed. A cold shower, something he knew would only temporarily abate the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach was exactly what he needed.

Just think about what you need to write for your essay. Jugal blinks, screwing his face up. Oh shit, what was I talking about in that essay?

* * *

Stepping out of the shower, his skin unpleasantly chilled, and his mind thoroughly focused on his unfinished essay, he toweled off. This particular professor loved when she could see her students critically thinking instead of regurgitating words from the books and discussions. The problem was Jugal started the paper at one in the morning. If anything, that paper was filled with bullshit claims and an extreme lack of evidence. Shit, he’d have to start completely over. Jugal let out an exasperated groan.

On instinct, he clicked his phone on, his texts innocently staring up at him as if they didn’t know the effect they had on him. Jugal glanced at himself in the mirror, his hair now damp, his face smooth from the shave, and his eyes bright and refreshed. Even the bruising along his hips seemed stark against his now glistening brown skin. He palmed his phone, angling it at his hip. Jugal worried his bottom lip, the nerves that he thought had swirled down the drain earlier, returned full force. His eyes widened, and his thoughts were abuzz.

Do I just take the picture? Should I - pose? What if he doesn’t like it?

Jugal had been forward when it came to his first time with Romil, so why was he having second thoughts about the texts? Well, he’d never sent a picture of himself before. What to do, what to do? Meher! If anyone would be able to help him, Meher was the one. He flicked through his chats, pulling up his best friend's text string with uncanny speed.

**Jugal: Hey, question. Do you think Romil likes nudes?**

He watched in silence as the three ellipses popped up, disappeared for a few minutes, and then reappeared.

**Meher: What kind of question is that? Why would I know?**

Jugal could practically hear her voice dripping with irritation, but he didn’t have time for that. He needed an answer, and he needed it now.

**Jugal: Just answer the question!**

**Meher: He’s a guy, so he probably would like nudes**

Jugal rolled his eyes, his head dipping between his shoulders. She could be such a comedian.

**Jugal: Hahaha! You're hilarious. I’m talking about me. Would he like my nudes?**

There was another long pause before she responded.

**Meher: Jugs... I’m sure you’ll be fine if you do send them. Don’t text me anymore unless it’s about rehearsal. See you at five.**

And with that, the conversation was over, leaving Jugal to make his final decision. It was now or never. Worst-case scenario and most likely case, Romil deletes the pic. It took four separate attempts for Jugal to get the perfect picture. Okay, Jugal, now for the written portion. He winced at the thought. This wasn’t a two-part exam. He inhaled, his fingers trembling as he formed his message.

**Jugal: It seems you were kind of rough last time. Maybe you can leave more sometime tonight. ;)**

He pressed send, and that was that. The ball was in Romil’s court. He smiled, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in anticipation of Romil’s answer.


	2. If I Could Love Myself, I'd also Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romil's response to Jugal's text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings**  
> This fic has sexting, angst, and trigger warnings for character(s) struggling with their sexuality. So if that is a tender spot, please tread carefully.
> 
> Characters don't belong to me

Romil barreled through campus with relative ease. The excitement that rippled through parts of the university whenever he appeared burnt out weeks ago, and yet, there were still a handful of women that continued to eye him hungrily. Despite the small nuisance, he was essentially a ghost.

Whipping out his phone from his back pocket, he checked the time: 14:55. Football practice didn’t start until 15:30. That gave him twenty minutes to read and reply to Jugal’s texts before his rowdy mates decided a manhunt was necessary to retrieve him, and he didn’t need them lurking around while he texted Jugal. Romil knew from experience that many of his friends wouldn’t take too kindly to finding evidence that he’s gay. No matter how much he adored Jugal, Romil wasn’t ready for their relationship, his sexuality, to come to light. It could destroy him, his family, and his father’s reputation. They were all things he wasn’t willing to risk. 

Chilly air greeted him as he burst into the locker room. By-passing the burnt orange lockers and bee-lining to a stall, he locked it before perching himself on the glistening porcelain toilet bowl. Quickly, he silenced his phone; one could never be too careful. 

“Okay, let’s see what w-” Romil’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He drank in the sight of gleaming, honey-beige skin, and the promising peak of plump buttocks he enjoyed kneading, licking, and kissing. His words from earlier flooded his memory. Swiftly skimming over the messages Jugal sent him over the last hour, his mouth tightened with salivation.

**R: Hey, headed to my last class <3 13:45**

**J: Cool. 13:46**

**J: …I know I’ve said this before, but I think you have beautiful eyes. 13:47**

Romil’s cheeks grew warm. Had he been looking in a mirror, he was sure his face would be the color of ripened pomegranate seeds. Remembering the first time Jugal spoke those words to him always brought a grin to his lips. In all honesty, it had caught him by surprise. Romil couldn’t remember the last time he received a compliment for any part of himself that wasn’t his abdominal muscles and biceps. It may not have been much, but it meant something to him. He continued.

**J: I love when your eyes light up, and I love the way your body feels on mine. 13:51**

Romil snorted. He could feel the embarrassment and anxiety running through Jugal’s head.

**J: Next time, I want your fingers in my mouth. I want to su-**

The loud clang of the hefty locker room door sent Romil’s heart battering against his ribs. For a brief moment, icy fear pinched at his spine and gripped his stomach. His rambunctious friends’ voices buzzed along the walls, causing his ears to ring. Just once, he wished his friends were quiet. He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, willing his vibrating body to steady itself. He was fine. He was locked in a stall, his friends didn’t know he was there, and they were unaware of his relationship with Jugal. 

"Everything is fine," he muttered to himself as he took another deep breath. He shrugged off the fright before returning to the messages.

**J: Next time, I want your fingers in my mouth. I want to suck them, feel them explore my mouth while you grip my hips so tight, I’ll be able to see the result of our lovemaking several days after. 13:58**

**J: It seems you were kind of rough last time. Maybe you can leave more sometime tonight;) 14:25**

**J: [Image sent] 14:25**

Romil had only caught a glimpse of the image before scrolling to the beginning of that day’s message thread. Upon fully seeing it, he could feel his jeans growing tight, his toes curling, and his jaw aching from clenching and salivating. His eyes glossed over the timestamps, his lips stretched into a smile, and his eyes crinkled. There was a large discrepancy between the time the last three messages, including the image, were sent. Knowing his boyf - knowing Jugal, he probably spent half the time crafting the message, and the other half fretting over whether he should send the image in the first place.

A sudden thought struck Romil. His smile crumbled, and his brows pinched. He found himself glaring at the dreadful, yellow peeling paint of the restroom stall. He was aware that between Jugal and himself, he was the most cautious, the most concerned when it came to their – relationship. It gnawed at him like a leopard at a bone. 

Every time they couldn't openly enjoy each other's company, and every moment Romil couldn't provide Jugal with the attention and affection he craved, regret and frustration tickled at his heart. It wasn't the previous dull ache he had come to know with denying himself all these years. No. This was a fresh, more cutting feeling that licked at his nerve endings, rattled his bones, and sent his head spinning. Romil wished more than anything that they could openly hold hands, that he could caress Jugal's stubbly cheek, and run his fingers through raven locks that tickled his nose and chin when they cuddled. 

Romil swallowed against the lump in his throat and the tears that welled in his eyes. Forcing his thoughts to change course, he assured himself he would devote some other time to these feelings. Another sharp, uncomfortable pain settled in his chest. He promised on numerous occasions that he would reflect on his feelings about his sexuality and now his new relationship with Jugal, but not once had he followed through. Maybe he should talk to someone. Not Jugal, but maybe Meher? Would she be willing to listen to him? That was a great question, another of which he would relegate to thinking about some other time. Right now, he needed to focus on responding to Jugal and making it to practice on time.

He returned his attention to the phone, the picture. He’d cataloged every facial expression, every muscle, every moan and whisper, every twitch and sensation. He’d never seen the aftermath of their couplings as clearly as he saw the fading purple-blue bruises smattered across Jugal’s plump waist and hips within this image. He could practically feel Jugals scorching skin beneath him, his shortened fingernails leaving tiny divots in his back and biceps, and his ragged breathing rushing past and tickling his ear. These days, Romil could hardly take off his shirt without risking others seeing the harsh maroon indents and scratches littering his back. 

The howls and hoots of his football team receded as they filed out of the air-conditioned space. He let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding, and his tight grip slackened a bit. He had 15 minutes, more than enough to do what he needed. 

**R: THE DROUGHT HAS ENDED!! 15:15**

**J: haha you’re so funny. A regular clown 15:17**

Romil could imagine the slight head bobble Jugal did when he was using sarcasm.

**J: You just totally ruined the mood😑 15:17**

**R: I’m Sorry! I’d be more than willing and happy to ravish you in the name of freshening up those eye-catching marks. 15:19**

**R: I hope you’re ready. After rehearsal, I plan on making you scream my name several times 15:20**

**J: …15:20**

Romil watched with rapt attention as the three ellipses jumped back and forth before Jugal finally settled on his response. He loved riling up Jugal. It didn’t often happen that he caught Jugal off guard, but when he did, it was worth it. 

**J: I wouldn’t expect anything else. Be ready to carry me to class tomorrow. 15:22**

Romil’s eyes widened. Damn it! Jugal had once again managed to surprise him. That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy the image of Jugal being debauched and wrung dry, so much so Romil would have to carry him. It was a secret fantasy of his. His phone chimed.

**J: See you at rehearsal. 15:23**

He smiled at that.

**R: Yeah, see you. 15:23**

Romil’s eyes roamed over their text thread, stopping at the image as he scrolled. The uncomfortable feeling reappeared in full force filling his chest and suffocating him. 

He needed to delete that photo. He was quite happy to receive it. It was a magnificent sample of what was to come if he did well at rehearsal, but there was too much risk keeping it. What if someone snatched his phone while he was reading Jugal’s texts? What if his dad or mom saw it? He wouldn’t be able to handle whatever consequences awaited him as a result of such an event. He loved Jugal. No! No, he liked Jugal. He enjoyed the time they spent together. He could be himself around the quirky young man, but… he wasn't allowed to do that. He shouldn’t feel that. He glanced at the text thread once more and then the image. 

His lips thinned, and his nostrils flared. His clothing clung uncomfortably to his skin, while his eyes burned from not blinking. Undeniably, Romil _felt_ something for Jugal. He gripped at his chest, the fabric of his shirt wrinkled and rustled in his vice-like grip. It shouldn’t be hard to admit. He felt something for Jugal. He’d felt something his whole life and had denied it, but now it was all coming back up. Everything he’d buried, and hid behind broad shining smiles, and arrogance, all of it was being dredged back up all because of Jugal. 

Jugal.

Jugal deserved better than this. Better than what he could give. But how could Romil give him better when he was too terrified to be himself, to _love_ himself? He violently kicked at the stall door, a single tear rolling down his pain contorted face. Had this been a television show, the damn thing would have flown off its hinges. As he clenched his fist, he felt his knuckles cracking under the pressure. 

Fuck! He couldn't worry about this, which was why he’d drive these concerns to the recesses of his mind. Now was not the time for a bout of self-loathing. With inhuman speed, he changed into his football gear and slammed his bag into a locker. Giving himself a once over in the full-body mirror, Romil splashed his face with water and glued a broad smile to his face. He was sure it didn’t reach his eyes. 

The phone sat among the heap of clothing. It looked dejected; like, it knew Romil was angry and contemplating hurling it across the room. Instead, he clutched the smooth plastic surface and ran a tentative thumb across the screen. He would delete the photo, just not right now. Relegating his phone to one of the pockets of his bag, he allowed himself to speak this one utterance.

“I - I think I’m in love with Jugal,” he whispered. The spoken realization nearly sent his carefully constructed, overly macho facade tumbling. He shook the notion from his head, as he jogged to the football field in the unbearable dry heat, a cocky smirk on his lips, and a stifling feeling crushing his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and comments are appreciated.


End file.
